


You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier

by LucRambles



Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucRambles/pseuds/LucRambles
Summary: Sylvain and Felix get married. That's it that's the fic.(Brief mentions of canon-typical violence/war at the very beginning.)Sylvix Week 2020, Day One: After the War/Future | Wedding
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933951
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier

**Author's Note:**

> It's day 1 of Sylvix week let's fucking gooooooooo. These boys are disgustingly in love so they're getting married and they are HAPPY and IN LOVE
> 
> For the prompts "After the War/Future" and "Wedding." Enjoy!

_ “Are you ready?” _

_ “No, no I’m not.” _

_ “Are you ready?” _

_ “I suppose.” _

It happened on the outskirts of Enbarr, the night before the decisive battle against Adrestia. With the end of the war looming before them, hope and dread surrounding them in equal measure.

Sylvain had slipped into a sort of calmness, an acceptance that in less than a day he could be dead. Anyone around him—any of his closest friends could be dead. He hated that thought, but the war had been going on for so, so long. He’d seen so many people—soldiers and civilians alike—die. He’d killed former classmates in battle. His emotions had been a whirlwind for the last five and a half years, nerves frayed and adrenaline surging through his veins with scarcely a second to breathe. The thought of it finally coming to an end, it seemed, had caused him to shut down.

The same couldn’t be said for Felix, who was restless and fidgety. He’d spent hours double- and triple-checking all their gear. He looked for the smallest nick or dull edge on his swords or Sylvain’s lances, and sharpened every blade until the lightest touch could slice through flesh. He studied the few pieces of light armor he wore to make sure the leather hadn’t worn down too far. He studied Sylvain’s armor even more closely, and more than once, looking for the smallest weakness or dents that may have been missed before. He checked the strength of the straps to ensure they wouldn’t break and compromise his defense in the heat of battle. When he couldn’t find anything else to do, he paced around camp, unable to sit still. Concerned, Sylvain finally got up and tried to coax him back to their tent. “You need your rest, Fe,” he told him. “It won’t do any good if you’re exhausted tomorrow.”

“It’s all over, tomorrow,” Felix had said. “No matter what happens the war ends tomorrow.” He turned and looked towards the Imperial capital. “Tomorrow, right there, the future of Fódlan will be decided. As will all our futures. Those of us who still have one, by the end.”

“I know,” Sylvain said. “It’s… a lot.”

“Either of us could die tomorrow.” His voice was impossibly soft, softer than Sylvain had heard since they were children. Somehow, it became softer and even more vulnerable when he spoke again. “We could  _ both _ die. By this time tomorrow we could both be dead.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain replied, because what else could he say? Felix wouldn’t appreciate empty reassurances. An empty “we’ll survive, don’t worry,” would only agitate him further. They were elite, highly trained soldiers, but battle was unpredictable. They’d seen better fighters than themselves fall. 

A silence fell between them. Not uncomfortable, but charged—with what, Sylvain couldn’t say. He knew Felix was going to say something, could see it in the tension in his shoulders and the lines of his face, the way those amber eyes were turned to the sky, and the clench of his jaw. Finally, he sighed, shifting his gaze down and closing his eyes as he braced himself for whatever he was about to say. “I’m about to do something really stupid, because this might be my only chance. Feel free to stop me.”

Before Sylvain could ask  _ what, _ exactly, he was about to do, Felix grabbed him by the collar of his nightshirt and yanked him down. Their faces collided; noses bumping painfully and teeth scraping against each other. But Felix recovered quickly, pressing his lips to Sylvain’s in an endearingly inexperienced closed-mouth kiss, lips puckered and a little stiff. 

Normally, Sylvain would have taken the lead with a kiss like that. Gently guiding his partner until they were fully making out, showing them what to do to make it more enjoyable. He’d show off, demonstrate why he had the reputation he did. Maybe he’d even ramp it up, make the kiss more heated and hopefully get to take it further.

With Felix, he completely short-circuited. 

Every thought he might have had crashed to a stop. Any emotions he might have been feeling crashed. His very sense of  _ existence _ crashed. Everything,  _ everything, _ crashed to a stop and all that existed were Felix’s lips on his, chapped and bitten but better than any he’d ever kissed; the scent of sword oil and ground stone and dirt and sweat that clung to him; the slight throb of his lower lip where Felix’s teeth had caught it during the initial collision; the fabric of his shirt bunched up in Felix’s fists, just a little too tight against his neck. 

Felix was  _ kissing him. _ Felix.  _ Felix. _ Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who never showed any interesting in love or sex or romance, who rejected every last one of Sylvain’s offers to go find dates, who openly derided Sylvain’s flirting and any amount of PDA,  _ was kissing him. _

It felt like they stood in that moment forever, time losing all meaning. But it was really only a few seconds before Felix pulled back, loosening his vice grip on Sylvain’s collar. Their gazes met for a moment. Felix’s face fell ever so slightly and he looked away. “I… uh, sorry. I uh.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I told you it was stupid. I’ll… I suppose I’ll go.”

Felix turned to walk away and Sylvain’s brain finally caught up. Without a second thought (or a first, really), he blurted out “wait!” and grabbed Felix by the wrist. He stopped, but did not turn around. 

“I, shit, wait, did that really just happen?”

“I told you it was stupid,” Felix said, weakly trying to pull out of Sylvain’s grip. “Just forget it.”

Felix was out of his mind if he thought Sylvain could just  _ forget that _ . He stepped closer and tugged hard on Felix’s wrist, pulling him against his chest and hugging him tight. He pressed his face to Felix’s hair. “Tell me what that means,” he said softly.

“You know what it means,” Felix said, not moving to hug Sylvain back, stiff in his arms. 

“I…” He did. Or, he thought he did. There was really only one thing it  _ could _ mean. But Sylvain couldn’t just accept it. He’d spent so long,  _ so long, _ pining for his friend, and forcing himself to accept that it could never be. That there was no way his feelings would ever be returned. And even if by some miracle they were, they could never be allowed to be together. They had to have wives, father children with Crests, and being with Felix in secret while he loved another in public sounded worse than watching from afar. 

But he wasn’t thinking that far ahead right then. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that  _ Felix kissed him, _ and what that meant. “I need to hear it.”

“Sylvain…”

“Please. I need to hear you say it.”

A beat of silence. He felt more than heard Felix sigh. Then, “it means I love you. I—I have for… for a while. And I realized this might be my only chance to say it.” Then, softly, almost unheard: “If I die, I don’t want to do so with any regrets.”

If you had asked Sylvain what he would do if the long-time love of his life openly and blatantly declared that he loved him, he couldn’t be sure. “Crying,” however, would not have been on his list of guesses. 

But that’s what happened. As soon as those words left Felix’s mouth— _ I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you _ —a choked sob escaped and he buried his face in the shorter man’s hair. The tears started flowing and he couldn’t stop them, didn’t even consider it. 

Felix stiffened in his arms, raising his head and trying to step back. Sylvain squeezed him tighter. 

“S-Sylvain…? I—uh, are you—”

“I must be dreaming,” Sylvain finally managed. “Or I died on the battlefield and this is heaven. Sweet Sothis if this is a dream I never want to wake up.” 

Felix reached up and pinched Sylvain’s side. Sylvain yelped and raised his head, pulling back slightly but not releasing him. “What was that for?”

“To prove you’re not dreaming,” Felix said, voice and gaze firm. Then he seemed unsure again. “If… uh, does this mean that…?”

Sylvain nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah yes, yes” He pulled Felix close again.

“Hey,” Felix snapped and pulled back again. His amber eyes met Sylvain’s, blazing with a stubborn focus and determination he only saw when he was training. “You made me say it. I want to hear it from you too.”

Sylvain didn’t hesitate. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years, Felix. I love you so much and I never thought you would feel the same way.”

Felix let out a breathy chuckle. “Fool,” he said fondly. “I’ve felt this way since we were children.” Finally,  _ finally, _ he reached up and wrapped his arms around Sylvain, tucking his face into the curve of his neck. 

How long they stayed like that, neither could say, but eventually Sylvain spoke again. “Tomorrow. We’re both going to survive the battle.”

“Ever the optimist,” Felix said.

Sylvain shook his head. “No, that’s not a hope. That’s a  _ promise. _ Neither one of us is going to die tomorrow. We’re both going to  _ live. _ We promised we’d stay together in life and in death. But first, I’d like to live with you a little longer.”

Felix smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. We’ll both live. This is going to be the hardest battle we’ve ever fought. But we’re going to live. We’re going to make it through, and we’re going to live together, and we’ll figure everything out later.”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah that sounds good. We’re going to make it.”

* * *

“Are you ready?”

“No, no I’m not,” Sylvain laughs nervously. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, though.”

He sits at a vanity in a small room in the royal castle, checking over his appearance for the hundredth time in the last hour. He longs to restyle his hair, but Dorothea had threatened to take the mirror out if he changes it one more time. (But maybe it’ll look better another way? Or maybe that stubborn curl by his temple should be smoothed down? What if his hair looks better pulled back, now that it’s grown a little longer? Or maybe he should cut it, is it too late for a haircut? It didn’t look bad during the war.  _ Definitely _ not the style he had at the academy though, he doesn’t know what he was thinking with that. Maybe that curl by his temple works out. Does he look artfully disheveled or just disheveled? Maybe he should call Dorothea back—)

A firm hand on his shoulder snaps Sylvain out of his spiral. “Sylvain, you’re thinking too loud.”

His smile and chuckle are shaky. “Sorry, Ingrid. Just… do you think my hair looks okay?”

“Yes, it looks just fine the way it is.”

“ _ ‘Just fine’? _ It needs to be  _ perfect. _ ”

Sylvain raises his hand to fix his hair, but Ingrid grabs his wrist before he can. “It looks good, Sylvain. You look… very handsome.”

“Did you just vomit in your mouth a little?”

“Just a little,” Ingrid says.

That gets a short laugh from him. Ingrid smiles softly. “I mean it though,” she says. “You look great, and you’re going to knock Felix off his feet when he sees you.”

“Thanks, Ingrid,” Sylvain says. He lowers his hand when she releases him and finally turns away from the mirror. His eyes turn to a neatly folded pile of clothing. Ingrid forces back a groan when Sylvain walks over to it and begins refolding everything, stacking them by type, then rearranging them by color, then again by size, then by Goddess-knows-what. “I’m just. Nervous,” he says as he refolds one of the shirts he tried on.

“It’ll be alright, Sylvain. Take a deep breath. This is a happy day, and it’s all about you,” Ingrid says.

“Well, not just me. Felix too.”

“Yes, and Felix, I know. It’s about both of you.” 

She watches warily when Sylvain stops to examine a black doublet, hoping she doesn’t need to talk him out of another costume change. After cycling through what seemed like his entire wardrobe (thank the Goddess Dorothea and Hilda were here, or Ingrid would have lost her mind), he’d finally settled on a sky blue shirt, styled similarly to his gambeson but without the armor padding. It’s paired with snug black trousers and cinched with a dark cloth belt. From the buckle hangs a small silver bell. "It's a tradition," was the only explanation Sylvain offered for it. A half cape is artfully draped over one shoulder, deep green with silver embroidery. 

_ (“I don’t want to wear red,” _ he had said that morning.  _ “Red is my Father’s color. It’s Gautier colors, and by tonight I won’t be a Gautier anymore. I’ll be a Fraldarius, but I still want my own identity.” _ He seems happy with green.)

Ingrid continues. “As long as you two are happy, it’s perfect, okay?”

Sylvain nods, exhaling a nervous breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’ll be okay.” A beat. The clothing is perfectly folded and sorted by color. He begins pacing again, and finds himself in front of a bookshelf. He begins to level the books against the front of the shelf as he starts rambling again. “But what if something goes wrong? What if I trip on my way to the altar? Goddess, what if  _ Felix _ trips?”

“Sylvain have you ever seen Felix trip—”

He continues as if he doesn’t hear her. He probably doesn’t. His leveling speeds up. “If I look ridiculous that’s nothing new, I can just laugh it off, but you know how Felix gets when he’s embarrassed. He turns bright red and he blushes all the way down his chest and he pouts and it’s actually really adorable—”

“I think you’re the only person to ever call Felix ‘adorable’.”

“But he’ll be thinking about it all night and it’s going to sour the mood no matter what I do—”

“Sylvain—”

“Or what if my clothes rip or something? I mean they don’t  _ feel _ too tight but you never know.” He steps back from the shelf to inspect his outfit. “The seams look good, right? I’m not going to end up like, flashing my dick at everyone, right?”

“I am not looking at your crotch, Sylvain.”

“I guess it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine it’ll be  _ fine.”  _ He looks over the bookshelf, occasionally moving a volume forward or back a nearly imperceptible distance. “But what, shit what if I forget what I wrote for my vows? Where’s the paper, I still have it, right?” He frantically pats all his pockets, and relaxes only minutely when he finds it in the front right pocket of his dress pants, exactly where it was the last four times. 

“Sylvain—”

“Or what if I forget the ring? Shit, I didn’t lose it right, where did I leave it—”

“I have it.”

“It’s not—I know it’s not in my pockets—” He pats himself down again.

“I have the ring, Sylvain.”

“I didn’t—it’s not in my room I had it earlier—-”

“Sylvain.”

He whirls around. “Wait, I gave it to you, right?”

“Yes, it’s right here.”

“Oh thank Sothis I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Well—”

“Was everything double-checked though? Who baked the cake? It was Lysithea right?” The furniture is next, every pillow placed just so, the curtains on each window opened and tied back the same way, each lantern adjusted and adjusted again so it isn’t crooked. 

“Yes, but Syl—”

“She’s the only one who has managed to bake something he likes, everyone else makes it too sweet.”

“Sylvain.”

“And if it’s too sweet Felix won’t like it. He’ll take one sniff and wrinkle his nose and pout a little and goddess he’s so cute when he does that, but if he doesn’t like the cake—”

“Sylvain.”

“It’ll ruin the night, no one should hate their wedding cake. Or what if the decorations aren’t right? What if something’s wrong with the food?”

“ _ Sylvain.” _

“Or—” He freezes and stops pacing. He pales. “Oh, what if Felix changes his mind? I’m still surprised he agreed to start dating me—”

“ _ Sylvain!” _

“—let alone  _ marry _ me. What if it suddenly hits him when we’re out there and he realizes he’s about to make a huge mistake and has to back out in front of  _ everyone—” _

_ “SYLVAIN!”  _ Ingrid shouts and flings a pillow directly at his face. She considered slapping him out of his spiral, but she doesn’t want to send him out there with a red mark on his face. It  _ is _ his wedding day, after all. 

Sylvain’s rambling stops with a muffled  _ oof _ when the fabric makes contact. “What was that for?” he whines.

“To get you to stop for five seconds,” Ingrid says, exasperated. She takes a quick breath, then says calmly: “Stop worrying so much.” She clasps Sylvain’s hands firmly between her own and looks him in the eye. “Listen to me. Felix loves you. Felix. Loves. You. He loves you more than I’ve ever seen him love anything. He would trade his sword of Zoltan for you.”

Sylvain blushes. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would. Because I know he would. Everyone at the academy who knew the difference between his ‘I’m annoyed’ scowl and his ‘I’m hiding an emotion’ scowl could see how head-over-heels he was for you. He made you promise to stay with him through life and beyond when he was  _ ten. _ He always trained his hardest after battles where  _ you _ got hurt.  _ You _ were the only one he allowed to see him in the wake of Lord Rodrigue’s death. And,  _ he _ proposed to  _ you, _ in a big public event that embarrassed him but he knew you would  _ love. _ And he’s the one who went to Dimitri and threatened to take out his other eye if he didn’t make it legal for your two to marry and merge your territories in time for him to propose on your birthday. And, he’s already made it very clear to Dimitri and I that if your father tries to do anything to mess this up, we cannot hold him responsible for anything he does, no matter how public and/or illegal.”

Sylvain can’t help the surprised bark of laughter that escapes him.

“I know. And I have no doubt that Felix would fist fight him in front of the entire crowd without an ounce of hesitation.

“Bottom line: Felix loves you. Maybe he’s not great at showing it sometimes, but he’s been head-over-heels for you almost since we were in diapers. Both of you have put up with each other’s bullshit for almost three decades. He’s not going to change his mind.” 

She puts her hands on Sylvain’s shoulders, gripping firmly and giving him a slight shake with each word, maintaining eye contact. “Felix. Loves. You.” She holds him still but doesn’t release him. “And as long as you’re happy tonight and everyone knows you’re committed to each other, he’ll be happy.”

Sylvain takes a breath and lets out a breathy “okay,” nodding shakily. “Okay, yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just… heh, I’m trying not to freak out."

"Trying?"

_"Trying._ I never… I never actually thought I would get  _ married, _ you know? Not… not to someone I love, anyway. Especially not as much as I love Felix. If you’d asked me a couple of years ago how I felt about getting married, I say the thought made me physically ill. Thinking about my wedding day—a perfectly polished Garland wedding with a woman I barely knew waiting at the altar with Gautier’s bishop—it made me want to throw up. And, well, heh, I still kind of want to throw up, but for a completely different reason.”

Ingrid smiles softly. “I know. But everything is going to be perfect. Honestly? I’m sure that once you see him across the garden, you’re going to forget everything you were worried about.”

“I—you’re sure?” Sylvain asks.

“I’m  _ positive, _ Sylvain. Just go out there and be as grossly in love as you two have been since we were kids.”

“Are you ready?”

“I suppose.”

Felix studies himself in the mirror, as he’s been doing for the last five minutes. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for at this point. His clothes look fine: form-fitting black trousers and a Fraldarius teal doublet, delicate silver embroidery trailing along the edges. From his shoulders hangs a teal cloak, the Crest of Fraldarius proudly stitched in silver on the back, fur of the same silver at the collar and along the edges. It was fastened at his throat with a tarnished wolf’s head brooch, gifted to him by Sylvain over a decade ago. He’d polished it as much as he could, but it still showed signs of its age. He considered forgoing his usual thigh-high boots, but ultimately decided that if Sylvain could form a complete sentence upon seeing him, he wasn’t doing his job (He knows Sylvain won’t be able to think either way—they’re getting  _ married, _ he can hardly think either). Annette had tied his hair back in an elaborate braided style. Small bells were woven into some of the braids and very softly chimed when he turned his head. 

_ “To ward off evil spirits,”  _ Annette had said.  _ “It’s a tradition from Sreng. The noise of the bells is supposed to scare off anything that wants to mess up the wedding.” _

While he did tell her that bells wouldn’t ward off living people, he still allowed her to put them in his hair. He was never very good at saying ‘no’ to her. And, if it was a Srengi tradition, she most likely heard about it from Sylvain, who Felix also wasn’t very good at saying ‘no’ to.

He’s adjusting his cloak for the hundredth time when Dimitri appears in the mirror, looming behind him with his ridiculously large frame. “You suppose?” the blonde asks.

“I suppose,” Felix says again. He huffs. “I am… as ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t think I’ll ever be  _ entirely _ ready.”

“Oh?”

Felix turns away from the mirror and begins to wander around the room. He needs to do something with his hands and Annette will kill him if he messes up his hair, wedding day or not. He picks up a stray ribbon left on the table.

“What do you mean ‘oh’?” Felix asks.

“From what I remember, you’ve been ready since Sylvain’s tenth birthday.” When Felix turns around, Dimitri is grinning like the cat that got the cream. “You made garlands for each other and promised to be ‘best friends forever,’ if I remember correctly.”

“ _ Dimitri, _ ” Felix groans.

“Sylvain wanted everyone to have one. You started crying when he gave one to Ingrid, so he made you a second one to show you were his favorite.”

Felix doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know he’s turning bright red. He snatches a discarded shirt off the floor and balls it up before throwing it at Dimitri. The blonde laughs, letting the cloth fall to the floor as Felix scowls (not pouts—Felix doesn’t pout, despite what others might say).

“ _ Why  _ do you all insist on bringing up every embarrassing thing I did as a child?”

“Well in this instance, I’m just reminding you that in some sense, you and Sylvain have already been married for the better part of two decades. And that’s not counting the ‘till death do us part’ promise you apparently made—”

“Will you  _ stop _ .” Felix feels his blush travel down his neck and throws another balled-up piece of clothing. “It’s just—I just—” He sighs in frustration.

“There truly is nothing to worry about, Felix.”

“I know,” he says, exasperated. “I just… it… it doesn’t seem… it doesn’t feel  _ real. _ Summer garlands and childhood promises are one thing. But now it’s...there’s so—it’s so—I just…”

Felix sighs again, collapsing onto the couch and winding the ribbon around his fingers. 

Dimitri frowns. “Felix, are—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I’m not getting cold feet or anything. This is something I have wanted for a long time. I just… ugh,  _ Goddess _ why can’t I  _ explain _ it?”

“Is it the ceremony you are concerned about? You’ve never been one for social events.”

Felix shakes his head. He has the ribbon weaved between all his fingers, and keeps twisting in odd directions, following some pattern only he knows. 

“It’s more… well, I suppose grand events aren’t my forte, but this isn’t exactly a ‘grand event.’ It’s certainly more…  _ public _ … but it’s still a small gathering. I suppose it’s…” Felix pauses. His hands still around the ribbon and he tips his head back, eyes closed. One long breath in, a longer breath out. “I never even thought I’d end up here.”

“‘End up here’?” Dimitri asks. Felix feels the couch shift as the other man sits beside him.

“Getting married.”

“Ah.”

A beat.

“When I was young, the idea of being married wasn’t hanging over my head, the way it did you, Ingrid, and Sylvain. Of course, it was  _ assumed _ that I would marry one day, the pressure wasn’t the same. It would be odd, but not cataclysmic, were I to remain unwed. And the older I grew, the less interested I became.”

Felix keeps his eyes glued to the ceiling, but he doesn’t have to look at Dimitri to know how intently he’s listening. The blond doesn’t interrupt Felix, even when he pauses. Likely worried about Felix clamming up. It’s true that he’s become more open since the war ended, but it’s a slow process and he’s still not very good with words. And, while their relationship has improved as well, they’re still cautious around each other, old wounds still healing. 

Even with all that, Felix isn’t quite sure why he’s talking so much. Perhaps getting married is making him soft. The gravity of the situation loosening his tongue, baring the emotions inherent to such an event. 

“And then I realized what my feelings for Sylvain were, and I began to accept that nothing would come of that.” Felix chuckles, a single sharp exhale. “And honestly, with what Sylvain’s gone through, I almost expected him to refuse my proposal, simply on the basis that he would be  _ married. _ ”

“You didn’t think Sylvain would accept?”

Felix shakes his head. “No. Or, well, I knew on some level that he would accept. We had some conversations dancing around the subject, but never properly asking. I know he loves grand gestures and proof that he’s  _ wanted, _ but I wouldn’t have put him on the spot if I truly suspected he would refuse. But, if he had professed that he wouldn’t want to marry, even someone he loves, I can’t say I would have been too surprised.

“I am… glad that he accepted. But I still can’t quite believe it.”

A long silence settles between them. Felix begins twisting the ribbon again as Dimitri absorbs the conversation.

“I suppose that feeling isn’t unusual.”

“You suppose?” Felix asks, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I suppose,” Dimitri says with a laugh. 

“So, to answer your original question, yes, I suppose I’m ready.”

It’s only a few more minutes before there’s a knock at the door. “Felix!” Flayn’s voice comes through. “It is almost time for the ceremony to begin! Everyone needs to get into position.”

“I’ll be there in a moment, thank you, Flayn,” Felix calls. He unwinds the ribbon and drops in back on the table. He checks himself over in the mirror one more time, checks his pocket for Sylvain’s ring, takes a deep breath, and walks to the door. Dimitri claps a large hand on his shoulder and offers him a bright smile. “I am very happy for you, Felix. I’m glad that such joy can now be found.”

Felix scoffs, but his smile betrays the sound. “Going soft on me now?”

Dimitri smiles and lets out a small laugh as Felix brushes off his hand. “Go get in position,” Felix says. “I’m not about to be late to my own wedding.”

The Verdant Rain Moon brings the storms that give the month its name. The rains are warm, even in parts of former Faerghus, and bring welcome relief from the dry Garland and Blue Sea Moons. The land eagerly drinks the rain, and flourishes in the last few weeks before harvest season. The royal gardens in Fhirdiad are said to be at their loveliest during this time.

An altar has been constructed in these gardens, at the heart of the hedge maze and hidden from prying eyes. Trellises of white and blue flowers carefully arranged into a wide, arching frame. Two semi-circles of seats have been set up around it, all seats filled save for five in the front row—four on the left and one on the right. A small group of instrumentalists sit off to one side. 

At the altar stands the archbishop of the Church of Seiros, flanked on one side by the new king of United Fódlan. A pathway cuts through the center of the clearing, bookended by gaps in the hedge and leading to the altar. Shuffling can be heard past the green walls as last-second preparations are made. Little sparks of magic float in the air on and off as people signal to each other, until finally two clusters of green sparks rise over the hedges. The archbishop nods to the conductor and the music begins to play. 

The flower girls begin the procession; Flayn comes down the left side of the path. A basket of blue rose petals nestled in the crook of one elbow, from which she draws handfuls and scatters on the path before her. Annette comes from the right. her own basket full of pink petals. 

Behind Flayn comes Felix, head held high and a soft smile gracing his face. The bells in his hair chime softly as he moves, and one hand rests on Seteth’s outstretched arm as they follow Flayn down the aisle. From behind Annette comes Sylvain, his smile threatening to outshine the sun itself. One hand rests on Ingrid’s arm, and she presses her other hand over his when Sylvain’s eyes land on Felix. It’s the only thing that keeps him from sprinting across the garden. 

The remaining flower petals are scattered at the foot of the altar, pink and blue swirling together in the grass. Flayn and Annette scuttle to their seats as the men of the hour and their escorts arrive at the front of the crowd. Ingrid pats Sylvain on the back, smiling and whispers, “remember, this is  _ your _ day, there’s nothing to fear,” before taking her spot on Byleth’s other side, opposite Dimitri. Seteth smiles at Felix and gives him a reassuring squeeze on the arm before taking his seat beside Flayn. To his right are the remaining two empty chairs. A teal and silver cloak, similar to the one Felix wears, is neatly folded on one chair. On the other seat, a plain teal cloak has been folded and placed, a single black spur placed on top.

To no one’s surprise, the grooms run to each other once they’re released, colliding into a hug before the altar. Felix lifts Sylvain in the air and spins him around, both laughing more than they have in years. Sylvain leans down and attempts to pull Felix into a kiss, but neither can hold still long enough for a proper one. Behind them, Byleth chuckles. “I thought you were supposed to kiss  _ after _ the ceremony.”

Felix blushes bright red, but his smile does not fade. Sylvain just laughs. “Sorry, By. I can’t keep my hands off him.”

“Insatiable,” Felix says, setting Sylvain on the ground and giving him a quick peck on the lips before they take their places at the altar.

“I’m glad you could all make it today,” Byleth begins. “It’s not often that we can find time to visit each other, especially outside political meetings. In the past when we all gathered, it was for class at the Officer’s Academy, and our assignments took us to the battlefield. And then we were meeting in war councils, strategy meetings, battles that we would all rather forget.

“Today, we are not here for any of that. Today is a day meant only for joy and happiness; deep, all-consuming love and a vision for the future. Today we are here to witness the marriage of our close friends, Felix and Sylvain. 

“The grooms have written their own vows,” She takes a step back, giving the pair the spotlight.

“I need to go first,” Sylvain says. His eyes are misty already and his voice strained. “Once I hear yours I’ll be crying too much to read mine.”

He pulls the neatly folded paper from his pocket. His eyes scan the words for a long moment, then he crumples it up and shoves it in his pocket. Behind him, Ingrid snorts.

“I had—” His voice cracks. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I had a whole big long speech written out,” Sylvain begins. “All about how much I love you, every little thing I love about you, about all—about all these moments throughout our lives when I fell more and more in love with you. I lost count of how many times I rewrote it—so many times Ingrid threatened to steal all my quills.” The crowd laughs, and a few sniffles can already be heard; Felix chuckles.

“But now that I’m standing here, I know that nothing I—” Sylvain’s voice cracks again, and he has to pause before continuing. “Nothing I ever could have written could capture just how absolutely, whole-heartedly I love you. I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was, and it took me so long to realize it. While I wish I’d worked up the guts to tell you sooner, I’m so, so,  _ so _ glad that we’re standing here now. 

“My entire life I have dreaded my wedding day. I never thought it could be a happy event. I never thought I’d be standing here with the love of my life, who loves me back just as much. I never thought I’d be  _ happy _ getting married. And right now, I’ve never been happier, knowing I get to spend every day of my life by your side, and every day after.”

The waterworks in the audience began as Sylvain spoke. Annette, Bernadetta, and Lysithea struggle not to cry too loudly; Dorothea is fighting a valiant battle against her mascara; Hilda has lost the fight with hers. At the altar, Dimitri continuously wipes at his eyes, struggling to keep his composure. Even Byleth, still more stoic than most after all these years, is misty-eyed. 

“You’re such a sap,” Felix says, smile never leaving his face. “How the hell am I supposed to follow that up?”

“I believe in you,” Sylvain says. Felix can’t help but laugh.

“I’ve never been particularly good with words. I did try to get my thoughts down on paper, but it never sounded right. So, I’m going to skip all the flowery prose so common in wedding vows and speak plainly.” Pale amber eyes lock with soft brown, the same determination present in them as his first confession. “Sylvain Jose Gautier, I love you, and I have since we were children. I stood beside you every time we got in trouble, every time  _ you _ got in trouble, and you stayed by my side as well. You—” He stops and takes a shaky breath. “You stayed with me even when the boy you fell in love with changed so drastically. I don’t know who I would be now, were you not at my side. 

“We clawed our way through our adolescence, and spent our young adulthood buried deep in death and misery and hopelessness. But we’re both standing here now, a whole new world stretching out before us. 

“We promised to die together. But I’m grateful that we can  _ live _ together first.”

“I’m so happy for both of you,” Byleth says, stepping forward. Then, “Do you have the rings?”

Felix pulls his from his pocket; Sylvain turns to accept his from Ingrid. Sylvain offers his hand first. “Since I went first for vows." Tear streaks line his face.

On the fourth finger of his left hand, Felix slides a simple silver band. A smooth teal gem is set in the center of it, polished to perfection. Felix squeezes his hand before offering his own. Sylvain slides a plain black band on his almost-husband’s finger, then leans down to kiss the ring before letting go, drawing a bright blush to Felix’s face. 

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, do you take Sylvain to be your husband?”

“I do.”

“Sylvain Jose Gautier—”

“ _ I do.” _

Byleth chuckles. “Then, by witness of the Goddess and all in attendance today, I pronounce you wed. You may—”

Byleth doesn’t get to finish before Sylvain shoots forward, jumping into Felix’s arms and pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. Felix holds his husband tight and returns the kiss with equal intensity as the crowd around them erupts in cheers and the sound of bells. 

“You’re my husband now,” Sylvain says when they finally pull apart. “My  _ husband. _ I don’t think I’ll ever tire of saying that.”

“My husband,” Felix echoes. “Sylvain Jose Fraldarius, my dear husband.”

Sylvain pulls him into another kiss, his body overflowing with so much joy he cannot fully express it. Felix pulls the larger man tighter against him, buzzing with too many emotions to name, but  _ happiness _ and  _ love _ were the strongest. 

To say they were never more in love with each other than they were in that moment would not be correct, for every day the men fell more and more in love with each other. Every single day of the rest of their lives, until many years later when they were found together in bed, tangled up in each other, both having passed peacefully during the night. And afterwards, as they cross into what comes after, they clasp each other's hands’ and fall a little more in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave comments and kudos if you like this!


End file.
